


In a Time Lapse

by MileyCyprus_Hill



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), rdr2 - Fandom
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Lots of plot, NSFW, Porn With Plot, Scientist Reader, Smut, Some Humor, Time Travel, mature - Freeform, time traveler reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 08:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28468512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MileyCyprus_Hill/pseuds/MileyCyprus_Hill
Summary: Arthur meets a time-traveling scientist in the West Grizzlies mountains. She’s from a wealthy family that funds her research program. She’s grown comfortable in this century and develops a thirst for thrill and adventure. Arthur realizes not all aristocrats are the same and is risking himself to love again.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Reader, Arthur Morgan/Reader, Arthur Morgan/You
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	In a Time Lapse

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Secret Santa gift for @sad-sweet-cowboah on Tumblr and I hope you enjoy! I hope it's not too long 'cause I hit the mix text limit on Tumblr.

_What a haul!_ Arthur thinks proudly of himself. 

He smiles with glee while his horse races through the snowy woods. The clean white coat of his Appaloosa blends in with the topography of the land, with her brown speckles just faintly visible. Her nostrils flare and blow hot condensation into the winter air like the smokestack of a train blowing plumes of steam. 

Arthur turns his head to look behind him. It appears he’s lost his trackers, but he pricks his horse with his spurs to push her on further. He has to be positive he’s well out of danger. 

The leather saddlebags lay heavy on his horse’s croup, barely bouncing with each long stride of her back legs through the snow. A light clinking and jangling can be heard from both bags as the leather buckles holding them shut strain to stay closed.  
The morning sun breaks above the peaks of the rugged mountains, shining upon the fresh snow that fell overnight. The sunlight shines upon Arthur and his horse, quickly warming them on this chilly December morning.

A flap on one of the saddlebags is cracked open as it can barely contain its stolen treasures that swell the bag.  
A golden glimmer catches Arthur’s gaze from the corner of his eye. He turns again to check his bags. A golden orb squeezes out of the cracked flap of one bag, ready to drop out into the snow before Arthur shoves it back inside with a quick hand. 

His horse finishes another mile before he gently pulls the reins. A relaxed huff escapes her nose preceding a gentle nicker in her throat in response to her reward of rest. She slows to a gentle trot, her hooves marking her trail with subtle crunches in the snow. The white powder is so dense and fresh it muffles her steps to the point where it’s barely audible. 

Arthur knew retreating to the mountains would end in his favor. More snow will fall behind him and cover his tracks, and the thick layers on the ground have proven to be a perfect silencer of sound. Not to mention the dense forest of trees that provide even more of a buffer for him against open eyes and ears.

There seems to be a bit of a snag in his plan, though. 

He has no memory of this area of the forest. 

Arthur remembers riding directly west from the foothills of the East Grizzlies, where he and Bill robbed a covered wagon. The wagon was full of supplies and precious loot. A lot of the items were unrecognizable to Arthur and Bill, but they figured they could still earn a pretty penny from someone willing to buy shiny junk. Then, Arthur turned north to head further into the mountains, towards Barrow Lagoon.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t recognize this area as anywhere near Barrow Lagoon.  
Opening his map, he assumes he’s passed the river border that divides the West Grizzlies from the East, and therefore must be in the Tempest Rim.

_Shit, I can’t be lost,_ Arthur thinks to himself. 

He hopes he’s at least continuing in the right direction. If he can continue west, he may run into a familiar road and find his way south, make camp outside of Strawberry, sell the goods, and make his journey back to Horseshoe Overlook. 

Easier said than done. 

The terrain is starting to get rockier and more difficult for his otherwise sure-footed horse to traverse. The rocks buried underneath the snow are coated in slick ice, preventing his Appaloosa from gaining traction. Plus, the combined weight of Arthur’s burly frame in the saddle and the heavy loot in the bags is causing more strain. She’s growing fatigued. 

They’ll have to find a spot to rest. 

Arthur dismounts and leads his horse in another direction towards more stable ground. He can afford to backtrack a few miles in order to regain his bearings. He hasn’t heard any lawmen following him in a while, so he’s confident he’s truly lost them. 

The only sounds he hears are the occasional twittering of birds. Bright red cardinals and vivid blue jays dart through the contrasting snow capped branches of pine and evergreen. They pay little attention to the man and his horse walking beneath their nests. 

…....

_The wagon should’ve arrived by now,_ you impatiently think to yourself. Standing in the dimly lit room on the upper level of your spacious estate, you check the watch bound to your wrist. Its bright light turns on at the motion of your wrist. 

You don’t need to check the clock for the seventh time to know they’re late. The wagon carrying your supplies always arrives promptly, down to the exact minute.  
Nevertheless, you look out the glass window to the snow-covered landscape below. Another minute passes while you wait for that familiar covered wagon to travel down the long path to your home. 

_Why would they be late today? Have they even left yet? Did they make it through at all?_

You begin to wonder and your thoughts race, going down a checklist of possible mishaps that could cause this unexplainable delay. 

You’ve been living comfortably in this century for nearly two years now. You have dealt with a few hiccups in the beginning. By now you thought this shit would be cleared up now that things were running more smoothly. 

Boy, were you mistaken. 

You also thought you’d get comfortable being alone out here. You were used to it in your own time period. You’d be surrounded by people all the time. People you once called friends and family, but always felt so alone.  
However, after being truly alone for two years you never thought you’d end up yearning for something more than simple human contact.  
Physical affection. Loving words. Carnal pleasure. 

Suddenly, a vibration from your wristwatch jolts your mind back to reality. 

Incoming call. 

Stepping to your workbench, you grab your phone, tap your screen and bring it to your ear.  
You hear the caller panting heavily when you answer, “Hello?”

“(Y/N)?” A familiar voice replies. It’s Amin, the intern from your lab. 

“What happened?” You ask, noticing the stress in his voice. 

Amin breathes deeply and lets out another pant before catching his breath, “Highwaymen...Two of them. They were too fast, one of them I swear is, like, the Flash or something. They shot our guards and took the supplies.” 

“Oh my God,” you gasp, “Are you alright?”

All your supplies for the next four months. Gone. Stolen by fool bandits who couldn’t possibly comprehend the use of those tools inside the wagon, you assume. 

Amin lets out a shaky breath, “Yeah, I’m okay. I bolted out of there and hid in the woods when they tried to rob us. The guards tried their best but...they were just too damn fast. One of them took the wagon while the other split with some of the stuff.” 

Your blood pressure rises at the thought of all your hard work being set back. Those guards being killed. Poor Amin. You feel frightened for him but also angry at those bandits stealing your precious supplies. 

You sigh, “Do you still have your travel pad? Can you make your way back to the checkpoint?” 

“Yeah, I think I can walk there. We weren’t far from the checkpoint when it happened.” Amin answers. 

You feel relieved to know he still has his travel pad to get back, at least they didn’t take that. God forbid.  
However, you don’t like the sound of highwaymen being that close to the checkpoint. What if someone comes across it the same time an engineer drops in?  
That’d be a hell of a mess to clean up and a lot of paperwork to file for the report. 

This is why you requested trained guards from your time, not a couple of rookie deputies from a one-horse town in this century. 

Not enough room in the budget for that, they said. Just use people from this time period and pay them well to keep it hush-hush. With inflation, we can afford 19th century wages, they said. 

_This is what cutting corners gets you._

“(Y/N)?” Amin speaks. His voice is still shaken.

Shaking your thoughts away, you tell him, “Head back there if you can. Get yourself back to the exact time you came from. The time stamp should be there on your pad from when you transported in. Just hit ‘recall’ and it’ll pop up for you.” 

“Okay,” he answers nervously. 

“Be safe, Amin. If anyone finds you, just tell them you lost your horse and need to get back home. Don’t trust anyone.” 

“O-okay.”

“I’ll get in touch with the board and let them know what happened. You just worry about getting back, okay?” 

“Okay,” he repeats. “Bye, (Y/N).”

Before you hang up the phone, Amin quickly interjects.  
“Oh! By the way, uh...Happy Holidays.”

You blink in confusion before looking at the calendar on your wall. You failed to realize it’s nearly Christmas!

“Happy Holidays,” you reply. 

Bidding him farewell and safe travels, you end the call before gently tossing your phone onto your workbench. It lands flat on the table with a soft clunk. You exhale harshly through your nose in frustration and chew your bottom lip.

Being the daughter of a wealthy aristocratic family, you’re fortunate to have this opportunity. Not many physicists get to have their own research facility funded by a program run by their parents. 

You hate to feel ungrateful but, there are times it can be a real pain in the ass. The board of trustees responsible for the finances of your program truly like to tighten the purse strings. You swear they do it just to ruffle your feathers and feel a sense of control over you. 

_God, I hate talking to the board members._

……...

Arthur’s feet are growing numb from walking through the thick snow. The inside of his boots feel damp while he painfully continues to trudge through the snow. Looking ahead, he notices a small clearing. 

It's a path. A road cleared of snow and lined with tall and neatly trimmed pine trees on both sides. The trees stand apart from each other in a perfect row like soldiers in line.  
Arthur looks to his left, then to his right, then left again. He notices a gray plume of smoke in the distance. It seems to be coming from the end of the lane, beyond the pines. 

Arthur debates with himself whether to follow the source of the smoke. The only answer would be a house of some kind as he’s never witnessed anyone make camp in these frigid hills.  
Is it worth the risk going there to seek warmth and shelter? He has no idea what kind of person would live here. 

_Doesn’t matter,_ he steels himself. 

He checks the ammo in his revolver and the rifle on his horse. He’ll scope the place out like he always does: keep his horse nearby out of sight and check it out from a distance before moving in to confront whomever’s residing there. They can accept him as a guest or suffer the consequences. Arthur’s not much of a sweet-talker like Hosea or Dutch, no matter how hard he tries. He’ll most likely have to use his intimidation skills instead. 

It’ll only be for one night anyway. He’ll ride on and they can forget all about him-- that’s if they comply and survive the night. 

Climbing onto the saddle, Arthur gently rides on the path. His horse doesn’t walk for long before they come to the end of the lane. 

The path opens up to another clearing, welcoming Arthur to a massive stone manor that rests in the center. The house is constructed of gray stone that matches the rocky bluffs in the surrounding landscape. Nearly a dozen black paned windows reflect the sun in a beautiful shimmer. Double doors made of solid wood and iron stand tall in the center of the house. The arch of the doors look tall enough for a horse to step through! 

Arthur’s mouth stays agape as he dismounts his horse. He continues to stare and bask in the glory of this massive house.  
He hitches his horse to a nearby tree at the end of the lane before removing the saddle bags. He hides the bags beneath a neighboring tree, breaking off a few branches of evergreen and burying the bags beneath them and a thin layer of snow. 

The closer he steps towards the mansion, the more intimidating it looks. By the time he reaches the front doors, he’s looking straight up at the windows on the second floor. The view nearly makes him dizzy. 

He knocks three times and hears the sound reverberate through the heavy wood doors. By his third knock, the door slightly opens inward with a soft creak. Arthur peeks through the cracked door, his hand ready near his revolver. He pushes the door a little further, looks behind him for a moment, and schooches his way inside. 

“Hello?” Arthur calls, though he can already feel his voice failing to reverb in this grand building. The walls absorb his sound and carry it no further than the grand staircase in front, making him sound like a meek child. He steps further into the vast entryway of this stone palace.

Despite the frigid temperatures outside, the inside feels astonishingly warm. It’s as if Arthur’s standing near an open fireplace with roaring flames, but he can’t see a fireplace or wood stove from where he’s standing. He wonders how someone manages to heat such a large place like this. 

A feminine voice echoes through the halls. 

“Yes, I know that’s the risk we take when we do missions this way, but couldn’t you at least have assigned competent guards from our time to do this job?” 

The level of irritation is far from subtle in this person’s voice, but it’s obviously not directed towards Arthur, who stands awkwardly at the end of the stairs.  
He runs a hand along the wooden railing. It’s a beautiful dark brown, like rich coffee, and runs down into a deep curve within itself at the end above the first step. The end of the coil is carved into the shape of a talon grasping a round object tightly. Arthur’s fingers admire the attention to detail of this strange claw, moving onto the smooth vines and greenery that are chiseled into the bannisters that support the railing. 

“These are valuable items I’m expecting here - some of them priceless! And I can’t be expected to continue my research until those items get here!” The voice draws closer from the upper floor, heading towards the top of the stairs. 

Arthur suddenly feels out of place and turns to leave. He realizes whatever this person is upset about may be related to him and Bill robbing the stagecoach. 

Regardless, he’s waited one second too long as the voice calls to him. He stands frozen in place. 

“You there!” You call from the top of the steps, “Did Sinclair send you here?”

Arthur slowly turns around towards the stairs and is struck dumb at the sight of you. The large windows behind you let in a beautiful light that shines upon your head like a glowing halo. The sunshine is so bright, he can barely see your features. Though a blind man could still see your beauty. 

You quickly talk into something in your hands. A deck of cards? 

“I’ll call you back,” you abruptly talk into your hand and quickly put the item in your back pocket.  
“Do you have anything for me? Please tell me you were able to salvage some supplies.” You ask him, drawing closer to him with every step down the stairs. 

Arthur’s speechless, unable to think until he can see your face at eye level, away from the blinding light. 

“Um, ahem,” he coughs, quickly putting himself back together. “Who?” 

You look at him in annoyance. 

“They told me Sinclair would send someone to help.”

“...Francis Sinclair?” Arthur asks, taking a shot in the dark. 

“Of course!” you reply impatiently with your hands on your hips. You loom over him while standing on the last step of the stairs, staring down into his blue eyes. The colors in his eyes shine like crystals.  
It’s normally not something you notice during introductions, but how can you not? You’d have to be blind not to notice those gorgeous blue marbles. 

Arthur attempts to bluff and play along. 

“Uh, yes. He...sent me.” 

“Jesus, that’s fast.” You mutter. A silent pause passes between you two. “Well, then?” 

“Well, what?” Arthur asks, “You lookin’ fer rock carvings too?”

“Rock car--? What? No! The supplies!” Your irritance rises again. “Were you able to find anything?” 

Arthur stammers for a moment before feeling his coat pockets. He feels a rounded lump in one pocket and remembers the saddle bag that was overflowing with loot. A piece kept wanting to fall out. He pulls out a golden orb that fits perfectly in the palm of his hand.  
He can afford to part with this trinket if it means he can ride off with the rest of the hidden goods. 

You eye the little gold trinket in his hand. It looks unmistakably familiar. It’s ornately decorated with emerald green accents and has a turn dial on the bottom. 

You sigh defeatedly and reach for the item. 

“This was all you could find?” You ask. You startle in response to the touch of his icy cold fingers and notice his skin is chapped and bright pink. 

He shrugs in response and notices your reaction. He rubs his hands together to restore warmth to his fingers. 

“Yeah,” he answers simply. “If you don’t mind me askin’...what is it?” 

Arthur had a curiosity about this little trinket that kept falling out of the bag. He figured it was a jewelry box but couldn’t quite open it. 

You smile wistfully, “It’s a music box. Something from my childhood. I guess my parents sent it to me as a Christmas gift.” 

Arthur huffs lightheartedly. He forgot it’s nearly Christmas. How could he forget? With his luck, the wagon he and Bill robbed might as well have been Saint Nicholas’s sleigh full of presents. 

He watches your hands gingerly turn the dial on the bottom of the music box. The top springs open to reveal a tiny figurine of a couple spinning in a circle, resembling a dance. 

Elaborate notes are played within the box, playing a gentle song. It lasts for merely a minute, but feels like a lifetime as you both watch and listen.  
Arthur feels an overwhelming sense of calm wash over him, as if the melody is melting away the cold in his bones. His gaze moves from the hypnotic figurines to the look in your eyes.  
You look forlorn yet your lips are turned slightly into a subtle smile. Like you’re sadly reminiscing your memories with this music box. 

The song winds down and the notes play slower and slower until it finally ends. 

Arthur softly utters, “Beautiful.” 

Whether he’s referring to the song or you, you don’t know because you catch him averting his eyes when you look up from the music box. You clasp the top shut and gently shove the trinket into the pocket of your cardigan sweater. 

You eye the man before you, looking over his gray and white fringed leather jacket, patched denim jeans, and worn out leather boots. An equally, if not more, weathered leather hat sits on top of his head. 

“What’s your name?” You ask. 

He looks up to you again, his jaw clicking as he lightly grinds his teeth in contemplation. He decides to give you his true name. 

“Arthur Morgan, ma’am.” 

“Arthur Morgan,” you repeat, “Well...Has no one taught you to take off your hat when speaking to a lady?”

Your aristocratic roots are starting to show. 

Arthur hides his irritation well. 

_One of these ladies, huh?_ He thinks to himself. 

He takes off his hat and replies, “My apologies, miss.” 

He makes little attempt to hide his sarcasm and jesters further by bowing his head to you.  
Your sharp eyes and ears make note of this and you quirk an inquisitive brow. You also make note of his lovely hair: thick but not shaggy or unkempt, golden brown, an irregular part lines the top of his head, and the length stops just below his ears.  
His voice draws your attention as well. It’s so rich and deep, with a thick Texan accent that rivals that of Sam Elliott and Powers Boothe combined. 

_Where, oh where did this intriguing man come from?_

“You didn’t think to pack warmer clothes for your journey up here? You’re lucky not to get frostbite.” You state. 

“It was a sorta last minute excursion, _madam_.” He answers with an attempt of intimidation to show his annoyance. 

You’ve come across large and intimidating men before, in both centuries, but there’s something about this man that separates him from the rest. Something that makes him stand out from the thuggish ruffians you’d file him under at first glance.  
A sort of shyness, perhaps. In his eyes. The way he speaks. How he stands: tall with a straight back and puffed chest, but you notice he drops his chin quite a bit, almost bashfully.  
There’s some humility in the way he presents himself, and you find yourself magnetized to it. 

He continues in that near-perfect drawl, “If you’ll permit me, I’d like to rest here for a moment. My horse is quite tired.” 

You don’t feel obligated to grant his wish. It’s so lonely in this big house, you could use the company.

“Of course,” you say, “I’ll let the stable boy know and I’ll walk you there. It’s just behind the house.” 

Stretching out your arm, you gesture to the door. Arthur takes your cue and steps towards it, stopping just outside while you grab a heavy coat off the rack.

“What’s its name?” You ask, buttoning your coat and stepping across the threshold. 

Arthur gives you a sideways glance in confusion, “What?”

“Your horse. What’s its name?” You’re not sure why you even ask. Just making conversation, you suppose. 

Maintaining the distance between you, he walks beside you across the front lawn.  
“She don’t have a name,” he answers. He mindlessly fidgets with the cuffs of his heavy leather jacket. 

“What kind of cowboy doesn’t have a name for his horse?” You tease with a smirk. 

Arthur inhales and drops his head for a brief moment, then looks past your beautiful smirk to the horizon. 

“The kind that tries not to get too attached.” He answers in a solemn tone, but attempts to cover it up with an intimidating look to you. 

“I take it you’re not a simple rancher then?” You tease again, seeing through his facade. 

You had to learn the skill of reading people at a young age. Being the young daughter of a rich magnate, people always wanted something from you and often wore a deceiving look. You had to protect yourself. 

Arthur quickly notices this skill of yours at work, feeling your eyes search him. He’s never considered himself a religious man, but this must be what it’s like being under the watchful eyes of God. 

“What'chu mean?” He asks warily. 

“I mean, other than working for Sinclair, you must have a high risk job of some kind--not letting yourself get too attached. Especially to horses.” You answer, stepping closer to his horse. 

You reach a gentle hand to the beautiful Appaloosa. She closes the gap between you by stepping once and placing her nose into the cup of your hand in an almost magnetic way. 

You feel her warm breath against your hand as you rub her soft muzzle. She asks for more by nudging her head closer to you and you respond with gentle scratches in the center of her head, near the start of her mane. 

For a man who doesn’t grow attached to anything, he sure takes good care of his horse. Her mane is soft, untangled, and as white as snow. She looks to be well fed and shows no fear towards a stranger like you. You look past her face towards her stomach and see no scars from spurs. Which is quite rare to see: a horse with no spur marks, being treated kindly and not like a disposable transport. 

“This world is dangerous. There’s always risk,” he replies, “Everythin’s...changing. More people...more problems.” 

You simply hum in response, taking in his words.  
A simple truth. Every decade has its perils and change can either be for better or worse, depending on one’s perspective. No matter which year you travel to, there’s always danger. It just comes in different forms each time. 

“Come,” you direct him, “We’ll keep her warm and get you settled in.”

Stepping in line with you as you walk towards the back, he speaks softly, “Thank you.”

…....

Arthur’s still in awe at this place. Sitting at a large table in the dining room, his thoughts wander back to the private stable behind the house. It’s larger than any he’s ever seen, exceptionally tidy and filled with astonishing horses. They each have their own personalized leather halters and stalls filled with lush, soft straw.  
He’d feel guilty taking his horse back to camp after spoiling her here at this place. 

The tingling in his fingers and toes continues to become annoyingly painful as he waits alone in the dining room. The rug beneath his bare feet feels soft and warm while his wet boots lay somewhere on the kitchen floor where you tossed them.  
At first he objected to taking them off, but you insisted you did not want wet tracks throughout your home and ordered him to take them off. You then walked off to draw him a warm bath to soothe his chilled body before he could protest. 

He hears your footsteps echo down the hall as you return to the dining room. 

“It’s almost ready. Follow me,” you order him, yet again. Arthur can tell you’re used to ordering people around. Must be nice having that privilege.  
It reminds him of someone he knew...someone once close to him. 

Both of you finally reach the other side of the house to the bathroom, which is one of many closed doors in this hallway. Steam gently rolls out of the bathroom once you open the door.  
You gesture inside with an open hand. 

“Inside.” you command. 

Arthur takes one step and cocks his head to the side at you. 

“You gonna order me to strip and get in too?” He teases. 

You mimic his head tilt and say, “Keep it up and I will. You’re not the first man I've had to undress.” 

A devilish smile flashes across his face before he jokes, “Oh, how surprising! A proper, high class lady such as yerself should _never_ have to be subjected to such immoral behavior.”

You scoff at him, “Get with the times, Mr. Morgan. It’s almost the 20th century.” 

Eager to get the last word and before he can tease any further, you abruptly close the door. You hear a light chuckle rumble from inside and smile at the sound. 

…....

Arthur doesn’t know what’s come over him. He hasn’t been flirtatious like this to a woman in years. There’s something about you that he’s drawn to, like a moth to a flame. He’s felt this desire a long time ago with someone else. Someone like you, but also very different.  
Now sitting in this warm copper tub, breathing in the wonderful scent of the steamy bath water, he feels no rush in leaving. He’d like to get to know you a little better before he decides to leave.  
After all, he could sense your loneliness and empathizes with you. So, why not satisfy both of your needs? 

Arthur dresses himself in fresh, spare clothes from his saddlebag: a black French dress shirt and black trousers. He decides to leave the top two buttons of his shirt open to reveal a few curls of chest hair. Brown leather suspenders accent his trousers and he loosely buckles his gun belt just above his hips. He folds and tucks his union suit back into his bag. It’ll just be another layer of clothing he’ll have to take off anyway. Plus, this will accentuate his...features and hopefully catch your attention. 

His feet feel cold against the wooden floors as he makes his way down the hallway. He forgets which direction you led him in this long hall as he continues walking and doesn’t find his way back. He comes across a cracked open door. A bright blue light glows through the cracks and Arthur hears strange noises coming from inside the room. High pitched whizzes and tones continue on as Arthur presses a hand to the door. 

Suddenly the door swings open and you step out, closing it behind you. Arthur jumps back, startled, and sees your eyes widen. 

“Decided to snoop around?” You ask. 

“I got lost.” Arthur answers with a shrug.

“Hmm,” you look at him in mock suspicion. 

Arthur hears you lock the doorknob behind you before stepping forward. He watches your eyes dart up and down his body, hovering over his belt for a moment before looking up into his eyes.  
He detects no disgust or shame in your eyes in response to what you see. Instead, he senses curiosity. 

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks, his voice drops to a deep, sensual tone. It sends an erotic chill to your spine. Arthur takes a risk and steps forward, closing the gap between you until you are a mere few inches apart. 

Your lips suddenly feel dry and chapped, and you lick them while examining his rugged, handsome features. His body radiates heat in the small space between you, and you can’t help but notice his jutting collar bone and chiseled pecs beneath his shirt. 

You speak slowly in a low, sensual purr. 

“Come,” you direct him. pressing your fingers to his elbow and pushing him forward. “You must be exhausted.”

The walk to your upstairs bedroom felt agonizingly far. Arthur’s hand rested upon your hip as you both walked up the stairs, his fingers faintly brushing against your buttocks. 

You barely made it to the door of your spacious bedroom before you both impatiently grabbed at each other. Your hands reached for the front of his shirt and pulled him closer while his thick palms gripped your hips and yanked you close. 

Your heavy breaths echo throughout the upper floor while you explore each other. His bearded lips kiss upon your neck, fingers reaching up underneath your shirt and squeezing your breasts. You run a hand through his hair while the other grips his buttocks and holds him closer to you. 

Arthur shows off his strength by picking you up by the waist, making you wrap your legs around him and gasp in surprise. He pushes you against the door, which opens to reveal a queen-sized bed dressed in white sheets. Sheer white curtains wistfully hang off the high canopy of your bed. 

Your lips become tender as you both kiss and nip at each other, tongues flicking in and out in a playful manner. Arthur continues to step forward until his legs hit the bed, causing him to fall forward on top of you. 

You gasp again in arousal at his weight on top of you and moan into his mouth, desperate to taste more of his plump lips. He growls in response to your bite on his lower lip and returns the favor, lingering his bite until your lip slips from his teeth. 

Warm hands roam the dips and curves of each other’s bodies until there is no piece of clothing left. Springs creak under the weight of two lovers embracing on the bed. 

It’s been far too long since you’ve felt this reckless. You were raised to be a lady, an honest woman, an intellectual who will throw themselves into their work. But oh, how you craved adventure and fun. When was the last time you granted yourself this pleasure? To just have sex without the rules and games and second-guessing? 

Noticing your apprehension, Arthur whispers, “You alright?”

“To be honest, it’s been a while since I last…” you trail off, too worried you might say too much.

Arthur nearly breathes a sigh of relief, but simply gives a reassuring smile. His hands cradle the sides of your face and his fingers brush against your hair. 

“Me too.” He comforts you before pressing another kiss to your lips. 

His kiss lingers, causing you both to breathe each other in deeply. Your chests barely touch until he lightly breaks the seal of your lips to kiss you again. He does this over and over, teasing you with his tongue before closing his lips and moving to your cheeks. You feel the scruffy hairs of his beard tickle your skin as he moves to your neck. The feeling brings goosebumps to your skin and you breathe a soft moan. 

Arthur notices your positive reaction and continues, moving his lips to your earlobe and breathing heavily. His teeth bite ever so gently against your earlobe. You writhe underneath him at the sound of his hot breath and the subtle bite to your skin.

Instinctively, you arch your back to press your breasts against his chest and wrap a leg around his hips. Your fingers feel his back and explore the defined ridges of his muscles. Arthur lazily grinds his hips against you, but makes sure to not enter you just yet. He wants to drag out this moment of foreplay until you beg for him. 

“Tell me princess,” his deep voice breathes in your ear, “Do you touch yourself?” 

You moan out a barely audible ‘yes’. 

“Atta girl,” he praises with a smile against your neck. With a soft hand, he grabs your fingers and guides you to your glistening bud between your legs. 

Your eyelids shut in response to this wonderful feeling: the touch of someone else against you. Arthur’s hand lingers on top of yours, feeling your finger gently rub and touch your clit.  
He waits patiently for you, watching your expressions with interest as you draw yourself closer to release. He watches in awe while you quickly come undone. You sing out a beautiful moan and every muscle in your body contracts while an array of colors flash beneath your eyelids.  
Opening your eyes, you look over to Arthur who watches you with a smile. You eagerly take his lips with your own and he responds with an aggressive but mindful push of his own. He kisses you with an insatiable hunger while lining himself up to enter you. 

You’ve forgotten how wonderfully glorious the sensation is. Arthur fills you perfectly as he guides himself further and further until the base of his cock sits flush against your entrance.  
Arthur too, feels a rush of emotions he hasn’t felt in years. The comfort of a woman’s arms; to be fully enveloped inside her. It’s a rush he’s denied himself since he made the mistake with Eliza and vowed to never make again. 

But this time it feels right. The years of loneliness have broken that vow and granted him this wonderful gift of passion, warmth, and company. 

Arthur continues moving his hips, tenderly thrusting inside you. He hears your failed attempts at holding back your moans and helps to muffle them by kissing you passionately. You moan into each other’s lips and whisper encouraging words.  
Arthur’s pace quickens and he senses you’re already on the verge of a second orgasm. He feels you tighten around him and watches your cheeks flush.  
He feels dangerously close to his own release and tries to pace himself, but the rising wave is too addicting not to chase. 

He mumbles a warning, “I'm gonna--”

“Please.” Is all you can manage to say in a whineful tone. You bring your hands to his soft buttocks and hold him close to you. 

You reassure him, “It’s okay.” 

Arthur’s pace grows frantic. He drives his cock into you over and over again at a hard pace that rattles the bed.  
Your melodic moans return at a higher pitch and your vaginal muscles clench Arthur’s cock tightly. 

You cry out his name in orgasmic pleasure as he continues to drive into you. 

“Arthur! Oh, god. _Arthur!_ ” 

The combination of his name uttered by your beautiful voice and your tight grip on his cock causes Arthur to swell inside you. His pacing slows and he bellows out a low moan with his lips against your neck. He grips your hair tightly, pulling at your scalp until he finishes inside of you.  
Arthur rests on top of you, his body sweaty and radiating heat. He pants heavily as if he’s sprinted a mile and looks tiredly into your eyes. His lids are hooded with satisfaction and exhaustion. His hands softly brush against the section of hair he pulled during his orgasm, as if apologizing for any pain he may have caused. 

You can’t help but moan a little more in response to the fullness of him still inside you. Your second orgasm has left you extremely sensitive to every subtle and pleasurable movement of his body.  
Even more so when he unsheathes himself from you. You both moan softly as he pulls his semi-hard cock out of you. You miss his absence already. 

Both of you instinctively reach out to each other and wrap yourselves in each other’s arms. Your legs are intertwined and tangled in the cozy bed sheets. 

Arthur looks into your eyes and jokes, “I hope that lived up to your standards, m’lady.” 

You smile and lightly smack his chest.  
“My good sir, you’ve exceeded them.” You reply. 

Hours roll by while you both lie in bed, completely enamored and high on ecstasy. The two of you talk and talk with breaks of lovemaking in between. 

You learn more about this Arthur Morgan, hired by Mr. Sinclair to find rock carvings. Arthur doesn’t know why the rock carvings are so important, and you feel it best not to give any information. You and Francis may be working separately, but you both know how important it is for your projects to be kept hidden. Any information given to the current citizens of this timeline could cause irreparable damage to your progress. 

You find that Arthur is quite the helping hand, coming across strangers in the wild and aiding them in their work. He speaks of a paleontologist whom he sends sketches and coordinates of fossils. He laughs while telling you about Marko Dragic and his toy boat powered by radio waves. He also worries about a naturalist photographer named Albert, whom he fears may get eaten by a wild animal someday. 

You learn more about each other while also not giving away too much information. He withholds the fact he’s a wanted criminal, and you withhold the fact you’re a time-traveler from the 21st century.  
What an interesting man, this Arthur Morgan who has seen so much. 

Unfortunately, as the hours pass and nightfall has come and gone to welcome a new morning, Arthur realizes he must leave. In a single day in this secluded mansion, he feels as if he’s been with you for weeks.  
You’re aware of this too, knowing that you must return to your work and Arthur must return home. A glimmer of hope blooms in your heart that you might see each other again. 

You lead him down the steps to the front door, heart fluttering like a cluster of butterflies in a cage. 

Arthur turns the knob and opens the door and turns back to look at you. A cold wind gently blows from outside and the frayed edges of rope around his hat softly sway. 

“Well, Miss I, uh...I really appreciate the hospitality.” Arthur says. He winces at his unromantic words. 

You chuckle softly, “And I enjoyed your company, Mister Morgan. Be safe. I should hate to receive bad news about you.” 

Arthur gulps and gives an uneasy chuckle, “Yeah, I would too.”  
He takes hold of your hand and raises it to his lips, looking up at you with those gorgeous blue eyes. 

Arthur asks with a slight blush forming at his cheeks, “Would you like it if I...write to you?”

Your heart now beating wildly in your chest, you give a glowing smile and answer, 

“Yes, I would like that very much.” 

“I, uh...well, this is silly but,” Arthur stammers, “I actually don’t know yer name.”

“(Y/N),”you reply sweetly, “(Y/N) (L/N).” 

“Well, Miss (L/N). I look forward to it. And…Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas, Mister Morgan,” you say as he turns and steps over the threshold. 

Suddenly remembering the small weight in the pocket of your cardigan, you reach inside the pocket and feel the music box in your fingers. 

“Mister Morgan, wait.” You call to him. He stops on the snowy pathway and turns to you. Fat snowflakes fall and melt upon his hat and shoulders. 

You step out into the cold and reach for his hands, placing the music box in his palms and wrapping his fingers around it. 

“Something to remember me by,” you smile. 

Arthur looks down at the golden music box and smiles. He places a kiss upon your lips and runs a thumb across your cheek. 

“Thank you.” He whispers before turning to walk to his horse. 

You step back towards the house and call over your shoulder,

“And give that horse a name! She’s too beautiful not to have one!” 

Arthur responds with a hearty laugh and waves a hand, watching you giggle and step back into the house. He stands and waits until the large door closes behind you. 

The Appaloosa follows the pathway down the pines and evergreens while Arthur sits comfortably in the saddle. The hidden bundle of evergreen branches are tossed about on the ground far behind him, and the overflowing saddlebags rest by the large double doors of the mansion.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope it wasn't riddled with errors. Let me know if you spot any! Please leave a comment or kudos!


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